


the sweetest sound your lips can make

by Cloudnine101



Series: Stormpilot Stories [5]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: 5+1 Things, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pet Names, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 00:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5687335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Poe gave Finn a name, and one time Finn returned the favour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sweetest sound your lips can make

_1._

"Hey there, pilot," Poe says, jogging past. He claps Finn lightly on the arm. He's on his way to the airfield, Finn figures, seeing as he's all kitted out.

One of the others - Pava - does a double-take, and looks as though she wants to stop there and then. Instead, she clings onto Poe's arm, and hisses something into his ear that makes his face turn red.

Finn, shrugging, deposits his report in the filing box, and goes into the cafeteria.

 

_2._

Poe's lying on his back. His arms are folded across his chest; his head lolls to the side. He could be sleeping, Finn thinks, except for the fact that he isn't.

Finn cries out. He crosses the room in three steps, and then he's pulling Poe upwards. Poe's eyes are wide and empty. A smear of blood runs from his lip downwards. It trickles onto his chin, and pools at the space between his neck and jaw.

There's blood on his hands, and Finn's staggering backwards, and his back's hitting the wall, and he wakes, and is lying in bed, panting and twitching.

Poe releases his wrist. He looks shocked, more than anything else, and tired. His hair's tousled. There are bags beneath his eyes - and his eyes are open, and he's breathing, breathing and ruffled and beautiful. "Another nightmare?" he asks.

Finn can't say anything. Clinging to Poe's side, he inhales. Poe's scent is particular - oil and limes and some kind of sweet paste and cologne.

"Buddy," Poe's saying, and he's smiling, softly and sweetly, "you're fine, I promise. I've got you."

"You were dead," Finn tells him. "Phasma was there, and she killed you. I couldn't stop her. And it was because of me. She was angry because Han and I put her down the garbage shoot."

"Wait, wait," Poe says, "hang on a second. Who's Phasma?"

Poe's hand is warm against his arm. Finn leans into the touch. He can feel his eyelids growing heavier - a few minutes more, and he'll be asleep, encircled in Poe's arms. He'll have to apologise for that when he gets up tomorrow. Poe won't mind.

"My old commander," Finn says, "she headed up all the troops, but she - we came across her when we were breaking in to save Rey, and I didn't know what to do, so Han said - "

"Put her in the trash," Poe concludes. He draws his fingers through Finn's hair; Finn bites down on his lip, trying to remember the touch for what it is - a mark of friendship, and nothing more. "That sounds apt."

"She screamed all the way down," Finn yawns, and Poe chuckles. His hand stops. Finn shakes his head. "No. No, keep going. I mean, could you - ?"

"Sure thing," Poe says, voice a little funny. "No problem."

Finn hesitates. "Poe," he tries to say, but he can't make himself form the words, so he settles on: "Thank you."

 

_3._

"We need back-up," Poe's hollering, pressing the radio close to his ear. "They've sprung a trap on us."

"Poe," Finn says. Poe stops speaking at once. The door shakes behind them. The windows of the room are covered in grilles; Finn can see dust floating in mid-air. It feels as though his chest is full of it.

Pressing Finn's hand in his own, Poe says, "Didn't I tell you this was a bad idea?"

Finn tries for a chuckle, and ends up with a wheeze. There's an ache in his side, but it's kind of numbing. Finn knows it should be different from that, but he can't think how. "We had to save those people," he gets out. "I hurt so bad, Poe."

"Where?" Poe says. It's almost a demand. "Come on. It'll be alright. We'll get you out of this in no-time, and then it'll be back to the base, and you can share your stories. This'll be a good one, won't it?"

"My side," Finn says. "My hand."

"Oh, kriff," Poe says, "kriff, Finn, you've been _hit_."

"Oh," Finn says. He closes his eyes. "I can't move my fingers."

"Just - just stay with me, champ, okay? Just stay with me." Poe's hands are in his hair again. Finn reaches out with his left hand (the good one, the one that still _stings_ ), and takes hold of one of them. Poe's fingers are warm and soft with blood.

 

_4._

Poe comes to visit Finn in the infirmary - or, rather, when Finn wakes, Poe's there. He's asleep, still in his gear - his helmet's on the bedside table, beside a glass of water and two small tablets. Finn takes them, as quietly as he can, and sinks back into sleep listening to Poe breathe.

When Finn comes to again, Poe's gone. The bandages stick tightly to his wrist. There is nothing beyond them.

Finn cries into Poe's shoulder. Poe keeps him steady and still. Finn tells him that when he cried as a child, he was beaten. Poe presses a kiss against his cheek, and calls him _darling_. Finn thinks about what it would be like to hold him close.

 

_5._

The new hand's working out a treat, all things considered. The first couple of months were the hardest. Poe had been in and out daily, bearing flowers and gifts and anecdotes of life outside the room. Apparently, Jessika Pava had got into a fully fledged fist-fight with one of the instructors. Finn had laughed at that mishap until he choked.

Finn's a little rusty at picking up objects, but he can curl the fingers just fine. If he wore gloves, you'd never be able to tell the difference, Poe'd informed him once.

"You're pretty much bionic now," Poe jokes, smoothing his fingers over the metal. Finn hits him on the shoulder. They're side by side, now, pressed up against each other in the same bunk. Poe's hand rests lightly against Finn's thigh.

"I can still kick your sorry ass," Finn says, and then Poe's looking at him - just looking - and it feels as though something's clicking over something else. They're both quiet.

"In all earnest," Poe says, "you're a hero, Finn. You saved a lot of people that day. If it hadn't been for you - "

"Do you wanna kiss me, Poe?"

"Kriff _yes_ , hero," Poe says, and then he does. Finn can barely breathe. Their noses rub together, at first, and then it's all Poe - the way he smells, the small, delicate touches against Finn's upper arm, the sliding caresses across his skin. Fin has to close his eyes - this, all at once, is overwhelming. "Finn? I'm sorry. Did you - I didn't - I should've - "

Poe's drawing back, so Finn takes the initiative. This time, the kiss is slower. Poe moves backwards, and Finn is forced to go with him. It's an exploration, almost - Poe's back hits the bunk, and Finn runs both palms across his cheeks, enjoying the sensation of the stubble scraping his fingertips.

 

_+1_

"Hiya, honey," Finn says, sliding onto the bench beside Poe, who is being slapped on the shoulder by a grinning Jessika Pava. 

Poe spits out his drink in shock. 


End file.
